


Wedding Plans

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Multi, Polyamory, Stag Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the wedding draws closer, Sherlock and Mary have a heart to heart that changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic for a Let's Write Sherlock challenge in 2014 and when the due date whizzed past me, I lost steam. I am trying to get better about starting to post WIPs (meaning not doing it, since I know my muse sometimes scampers off into the sunset and won't come back for 3 years), but I love this piece and I want people to start reading it! Ch 2 is where the rating comes from and it is finished already. Still working on wrapping up ch 3. Thanks to the SHJW writing circle for betaing ages ago and especially to shellysbees who was my cheerleader, beta, and sounding board when I started this piece. I miss you!
> 
> Update: Thanks to tiger_in_the_flightdeck for betaing and fixing ch 3! I love you!
> 
> This could be viewed as TSoT Mary if HLV never follows or as the imaginary Mary of your choice. If polyamory isn't your thing skip this.

“He needs you,” Sherlock said, tucking a sprig of rosemary in a low vase, the shortest of the current three designs they were examining. 

They were staying over after a case ran long. Solved now, unimportant. But he was here. Well, _they,_ were, and 221B felt like home for the first time in a long while.

John had gone to bed ages ago and here Mary and Sherlock were, still wedding planning. Plant debris, the fallen leaves, stem ends, and petals, were all strewn about the kitchen counters and floors, a testament to the work of the last four hours.

Mary nearly choked on her sip of wine. 

“He needed me,” she responded, when she had recovered sufficiently from her coughing fit. “I’m the best thing that could have happened to him, after your death. Well, if it had been real. Which everyone is glad it wasn’t, by the way. Don’t take my meaning wrong. But now you’re back… Sherlock, what am I even doing here?”

Sherlock continued to study the flowers, arranging them carefully as he avoided her gaze. “He loves you, Mary.”

“He loved you first,” she said matter-of-factly.

Sherlock stopped fiddling with the flowers and looked up. “Perhaps. That doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

She sighed, avoiding responding to that and glanced instead into her glass. “I think this chardonnay is slightly better.” She downed half of it. 

Sherlock waved an exasperated hand. “Too woody. The other was lighter. But that isn’t the point!” She looked abashed, because she really should know better than to try and deter him. He didn’t initiate emotional conversations often, and she could tell he was set on seeing this one through. 

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, “Mary, if I give you a slice of cake and you decide to have it a la mode does that mean you liked the cake any less? Or the ice cream? No, it means you like them both.”

“Really, Sherlock?” Mary laughed, “Sweet analogies?

“Mary-” He broke in, but she held a hand up, stopping whatever reassuring nonsense he was about to spew. Placating Sherlock was the last thing she needed to do. He would practically kill himself for John’s happiness. 

She drew a sharp breath at that flippant thought, because... he had. 

“I _do_ know.” She glanced down and swallowed hard. This was different than she imagined, but it didn’t hurt. If anything, she felt her chest ease, a bit of tension she hadn’t been consciously holding eased away. “Does he know, do you think? Really know? And... are you okay? We are getting married, after all. If you are willing to have this conversation… I suppose you feel…”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Sherlock snapped, then softened, “I _am_ okay. Better now that we are talking, actually, which really isn’t something I ever thought I’d say. You already know how much I... like you and that hasn’t changed. And you are good for him, Mary.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “But, no, I don’t think he realizes. Not exactly. And certainly not that it would be alright. He’s getting married in month. What in his whole life experience would indicate it was fine to be in love with his best friend, too? No matter what that friend feels.”

Mary shook her head ruefully, draining her glass. “I think you should be happy. I wouldn’t mind, you know. Sharing him. God, that sounds crude, like he’s a toy. You know what I mean, though. I wouldn’t be upset if things... progressed between you. So, now that we’re having this little chat, what do you propose?”

“Propose is right.” Sherlock said, eyes twinkling.

“Are you mad? I don’t even think he’s ever kissed a bloke. He may be in love with you, but…”

“‘Course he has. Mate in uni. It was a dare, but he liked it and they didn’t need dares after the first time. It wasn’t love, though. Well, not for John at any rate.”

“Facebook reveals many wonders, Mary,” answering the unspoken question on her face.

She broke into a nearly uncontrollable fit of giggles and Sherlock smiled at her. 

“I love it when you laugh.” He rinsed their glasses and opened the next bottle. ”I was kidding, though.”

“I know. I can always tell. So you really discovered that bit, how?” 

“Actually, a drunk acquaintance revealed that one day, after blundering into a conversation with me when John went to the lav. Apparently I was ‘a right lucky bastard,’” His mouth twisted. Not quite a grimace, but certainly no smile, as he added, “Assuming we were a couple. So many people did.”

“It hurt, didn’t it?”

“Every time,” he said, his voice not more than a whisper.

He cleared his throat. “Well, we should suggest it to him. If you really... you’re sure?”

“God, yes.”

Sherlock smiled. “You should probably be the one to mention it. Unless you just want me to make a move on the stag night, which hardly seems like the time…”

They had ultimately decided that after the wedding made more sense. John would have that settled sense he‘d been longing for and it was only a month more, really. Not long, all things considered.

It was nearly gone 2:00 and Mary could hardly keep her eyes open, when Sherlock shooed her off to bed, flowers still everywhere, but the three arrangements to choose from come morning were finished and lovely. Neither could be arsed to decide at this hour, even if their conversation hadn’t taken they turn it did. Besides it might be nice to ask John’s opinion. Not that he necessarily cared about the flowers, but it seemed like the thing to do. 

As things were, flowers were the last thing on Mary’s mind, or Sherlock’s for that matter. 

He turned back to the countertop, corking the last bottle. The first and second they tried were pleasant enough. The third, not as good, but in their emotional state, they had managed to consume it in its entirety once they ruled it out. The fourth had been so awful Mary had upended it into the sink after they each had only a sip. The fifth made the cut and Sherlock now slipped it into the refrigerator beside the first two, with a note for John to try them. 

He turned off the kitchen light. He had slept for a while yesterday and he wasn’t tired now. Besides, he needed to think. He pulled out a pad of manuscript paper and began humming to himself, jotting down the notation as he went.


	2. Revision and Follow-through

The rest of the month went by in a blur, with the stag night to plan, wedding arrangements to finalize, several cases, and, of course the dance lessons.

Finally the evening had arrived. Stag night. With a bit of, albeit reluctant, help from Molly, everything should go as planned. Pleasantly buzzed with no sick the morning after. So far, so good.

Right on schedule, John had just ducked off to the lav and Sherlock smiled to himself.

It was in the third bar, this one dimly lit and a bit smoky, that things started to really shift. John had gotten the last round and things were starting to hit Sherlock hard. He wondered if something had gone awry with the schedule, but fairly soon he chucked the plan and just went with it. This was supposed to be fun, not just some experiment.

Fuzzy as he was feeling, it took Sherlock a bit to notice anything about the fourth bar, but as a line of topless blokes went dancing by, John nudged him. “Something you’d care to tell me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock took in the dance floor, the blaring techno music. Predominantly men. Dancing together in couples or small groups. Though there were a few women, they looked open and unguarded in a way seldom seen at a club, clearly pleased for a night of dancing without unwanted advances. His mouth hung open for a second, processing that he had brought John to a gay club as part of his Stag night.

“Only bar on this street,” Sherlock asserted calmly.

John shook his head and walked up to the bar. He took a shot and brought one back to Sherlock.

Sherlock arched a brow at him, but threw caution to the wind and knocked it back. It burned all the way down and he winced slightly, but did not cough. Why people ingested such poison for fun he could hardly imagine, but given his history with recreational substances, it seemed ill befitting to question it. Still, an occasional brandy or glass of wine were a far cry from whatever _that_ had been.

John took his hand with a shrug, pulling him toward the dance floor. “Eh, when in Rome, as they say.”

Sherlock blinked unable to formulate a response to that as John prattled on.

“Dancing, yeah? We did practice a few things that weren’t a waltz and while nothing was quite this modern, I’m sure you’re up to the challenge.”

Sherlock wanted, desperately wanted, but it just felt odd. What was John thinking, even? It was just dancing, but…

He was saved making a decision when John’s phone buzzed. “Can’t hear inside. Be right back,” he said, heading onto the small smoking patio.

A few minutes later, John headed back in, a grin on his face. Before John even made it back to the table, Sherlock felt his pocket vibrate and glanced at it. For once he thought he’d put off a case, but might as well check anyway.

**-Conversation went well, if a bit earlier than we discussed. <3 -M**

A few seconds went by with Sherlock merely blinking down at his phone before the alert beeped again.

**-You boys have fun! <3 -M**

Now?

**-You’re absolutely sure? -SH**

**-Yes! Don’t waste the opportunity. -M**

Sherlock pocketed his phone just as John returned to the table. “So you were saying? A dance, I think?”

John smiled smugly. “You good with that, then?”

“Well, as you said, ‘When in Rome...’ right?”

Sherlock let himself be led to the dance floor, feeling the heavy beat of the bass and trying to let himself go in this moment.

It was a bit awkward at first, but watching John, he couldn’t help finding the rhythm of it. After a few moments, they flowed together, moving with a synchronicity despite the public setting, the unfamiliar music. It was extraordinary. And affecting him more than he wished, permission or no.

One song wound down and another began seamlessly, the next quite popular if the groups now thronging the dance floor were any indication. John and Sherlock found themselves pressed closer together, still writhing to the music, and Sherlock drew a sharp breath as he could feel that he was far from alone in his current interest.

John licked his lips deliberately and met Sherlock’s eyes, such heat in his gaze it made Sherlock’s pulse quicken. He was out of his depth here and in this one thing, it seemed right to let John lead.

His lips parted slightly and he closed his eyes. He had been longing for this moment, but his imagination was nothing compared to John’s mouth on his, plush, warm, and utterly perfect.

As the next song took up, echoing “Do you believe in life after love” throughout the club, the light shifted towards a tiny stage. Whatever was beginning, Sherlock didn’t think it would be an improvement to their evening. The tenuous romantic mood was momentarily shifted and Sherlock pulled John towards the door.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have hit the fifth bar at all, but it was on the way back to Baker Street and it was on the list. John leaned in for another kiss, but Sherlock whispered low, “Not here, if we’d like to avoid a trip to A&E, or at least sending someone there. White Power tattoos on the tall brooding gent in the corner, already side-eying us aren’t a good sign.” Definitely should have gone home, but it was still so early. Sherlock lost complete track of what they were drinking and managed to nearly get in a fight. John had to drag him away.

Back at Baker Street, they sat on the steps. It seemed that all the alcohol had finally hit and even walking up the short flight seemed daunting. Sherlock had feared John might be an angry drunk as his father had clearly been, once he got beyond buzzed, but it turned out he was, well, rather cuddly.

They lay curled together dozing on the stairs and by the time Mrs Hudson startled them, they were sober enough to make the journey up to the flat.

Sherlock made them drink some water to help stave off the inevitable hangover. Then John poured them another drink. Somehow, back in the intimacy of the space they had shared so long, the tension returned. They hadn’t talked about what they were doing, hadn’t acknowledged anything. Just the text from Mary and that perfect kiss. Sherlock wanted to ask what it all meant to John, wanted to know where they were headed, but the words wouldn’t come. They had never been the most talkative of men, certainly not about anything sentimental.

A bit of whiskey and a silly game later, they were giggling. It felt ridiculous. It _was_ ridiculous, but so perfectly them that Sherlock laughed harder, until John put his hand on Sherlock’s knee. There was a momentary disorientation as the mood shifted again. This was really happening.

John slipped from his chair to the floor, kneeling between Sherlock’s splayed thighs.

“Can I?” John asked, and no matter what he meant, the answer was clear.

Sherlock couldn’t speak, just nodded slowly as John began to unfasten Sherlock’s flies.

“Thought about this so long,” John breathed, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Sherlock’s prick. He already partially hard again, rapidly growing fuller with desire. John paused for a moment, “Do I need anything?”

Sherlock shook his head and, finding his voice said, “Tested clean after rehab. There hasn’t been anyone since. You were tested before Mary, correct?”

John nodded. “We’re both fine.”

“Then I just want to feel you.”

John’s smile was positively sinful as he leant down and took Sherlock into the wet heat of his mouth.

From the first touch of John’s mouth, Sherlock was reduced to inarticulate groans of pleasure. It had been ages since he’d let anyone this close and oh, he was glad it was John. He always assumed he’d be the one to… but any rational though ended as John took him deep and swallowed around the head.

He let out a startled moan and brought his hands to rest in John’s hair, not grabbing, just feeling the texture of those short locks, grounding him, every sensation reminding him that this was John, his John. That this was really happening. That knowledge alone nearly sent him over the edge. But, heavenly as it was, it wasn’t what he needed most. Recovering his voice, Sherlock choked out, “Fill me. John, I need you. I need to make you... to feel you... please.”

John responded, releasing Sherlock from his mouth with a filthy, wet pop, looking up at him with pure desire. He shifted, pulling Sherlock’s trousers and pants completely off as he stood up. “I’ll be right back,” John whispered, leaning in for a quick kiss. He walked over to his emergency medical kit by the door and returned with a tube of lubricant.

Sherlock grabbed a pillow from the sofa and slid to the floor, lying back and spreading his legs to give John better access.

John slicked his fingers, rubbing them slightly to take away the chill, before circling Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock arched, moaning John’s name.

Slipping one inside, John murmured, “Relax. I’ve got you,” sliding deep as Sherlock complied. He kissed Sherlock’s thighs and smoothed his other hand over as much of Sherlock as he could reach, petting his stomach, stroking and tweaking his peaked nipples as he worked him open efficiently. “God, you’re beautiful like this. I can’t wait until you’re ready for me.”

“Yes, John, yes.” Sherlock moaned, working himself down onto John’s fingers. It didn’t take much longer before John deemed Sherlock prepared enough and eased his fingers out. He shifted position, replacing the fingers with the blunt head of his cock.

“Ready?” John asked, stroking Sherlock’s hips gently.

“Do it, John. I need you now,” Sherlock moaned, pushing up against him.

Sherlock’s body was prepared, but nothing, not the years of unspoken desire nor the weeks of anticipation after his chat with Mary, nothing at all had readied him for the reality of John finally here, thick and hard, stretching him open. He gasped, his fingers clawing the carpet, searching for some way to anchor himself in the sea of emotions and sensations that flooded him. “Yes, John,“ he cried out, his voice sounding harsh to his own ears, so needy and desperate it was nearly a sob as he pressed himself back, eager to be filled completely.

After John could go no deeper, they stilled, simply breathing together for the moment, until Sherlock gave a small whimper. “Move. Please John, I need to see you like this, to feel… I’ve wanted... so long.”

And John did, thrusting shallowly at first and then deeper and faster as Sherlock moaned beneath him. When they were accustomed to the rhythm, Sherlock spread his legs further and rocked his hips up to meet John.

“That’s it. God, you’re perfect,” John breathed, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s prick and sliding the foreskin up and down. 

Sherlock arched into the touch, trembling. As John stroked faster, matching his thrusts, Sherlock mumbled inarticulately in snatches of every language he knew. He swelled further in John’s hand, and with a soft sigh of attempted warning, “John I’m-” Sherlock was coming apart, coating John’s hand and his own stomach with his come.

John’s hips stilled, the sensation of Sherlock contracting around him nearly setting him off as well. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing along his jaw as he continued to stroke gently through the aftershocks.

Sherlock could have been oversensitive, but he only smiled, eyes still closed in pleasure when John began to move again. It only took a few more strokes until John was calling out Sherlock’s name.

Sherlock’s eyes blinked open, staring at John with nothing less than absolute awe, a sentiment he saw reflected in John’s gaze.

He’d been worried that something would happen, that they’d just have this moment, but what he saw in John’s eyes looked like forever. And when John spoke, Sherlock’s heart sang.

John gave him that little crooked smile that was never for anyone else as he asked, “What should we try next time, Love?”

Sherlock had about a million possibilities in mind.


	3. Vows and Promises

The wedding itself went off without a hitch. Or at least, as few hitches as any event involving Sherlock Holmes could have. Beautiful ceremony, Mary looking radiant and John? John was breathtaking. 

Standing there beside him, his suit an exact match for John’s, Sherlock felt just a bit like a groom himself. His lips twitched slightly at that thought, though his vows would wait until the reception. 

Writing that speech had been nearly the most difficult task of his life. What does one say when the person they love most in the world is getting married to someone else? But, Sherlock felt a contented glow, knowing that this wasn’t locking any doors.

 

\------

**Where‘d you get off to? -JW**

**Left you to it. Isn’t there a sex holiday to be getting on with? -SH**

**Don’t call it that. -JW**

**…**

**Sherlock? You okay? -JW**

 

A few minutes had passed since the last text, but Sherlock hadn’t answered. What could he possibly say? 

The door creaked slightly and Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen doorway. “Sherlock? Are you all right, dear? I’ve left a plate of those biscuits you like.”

He didn’t answer that either. 

After a moment, she said softly, “I know today was hard for you. A bit much, wasn’t it, with the attempted murder and all? But you did alright. Especially once you got past that marriage and murder analogy. Not good, that, but the rest was nice, dear. And you saved that poor man.”

“Yes. Lovely.” Sherlock said brusquely, hoping to be left alone. It was why he had left actually. Too much. It was just too much to hope. Whatever John had intended, now that there was a baby on the way he couldn’t… they didn’t need him in the way of all that. All after he had finally let himself believe, finally had John for one night, finally told him-- 

“John was looking for you.” Mrs. Hudson said, cutting through his thoughts. “Don’t think he didn’t notice that you left.” 

Sherlock looked up at that. He nearly bit out, “Oh, are you still here?” but managed the grace of, “Thank you,” instead. He meant it, too, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She patted his arm gently and left. 

He burrowed into the couch, heedless of the fact he’d only toed off his shoes. Any moment now he was going to be stabbed in the heart with the squashed boutonniere pin, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. He tried not to think it, about anything, although willing his mind to silence generally proved a fruitless endeavor. _“There are limits,”_ and _“Don’t know how those rumors got started,”_ rang in his head. There are limits and this is one of them. Don’t expect to be with me out here. Closed windows. Locked doors. Let’s be _perfectly_ clear. 

 

Less than half an hour later, he could hear Mrs Hudson greeting someone. There was a knock at the door and she called out, “Sherlock?”

“Not now,” he shouted, albeit muffled by the couch cushions.

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said again, every bit of her surprise evident in her expression and tone. “It’s John and Mary.” 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock blurted out, sitting up and looking around bewildered as the two entered the flat, still bedecked in their wedding finery.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. He wasn’t answering his texts and... Well, thank you,” John said.

“Anytime, dear,” she answered, with a quick glance at each of them, clearly trying to decipher what on earth was going on between them all before sighing and seeing herself out. 

“You left our wedding reception early! Who does that?” John said reproachfully. “Generally not the best man.”

“I..” Sherlock started, but faltered.

“Just because none of the guests knew that it was yours too doesn't make that less true, Sherlock.” Mary added, her voice softly chiding.

“You considered it...? You never said, and... you’re the ones who are _actually_ married, and now you’re having a baby. You have your whole lives together. You don’t need-”

“Don’t need what? Don’t need _you_?” John asked incredulously. “That’s what this is about? Hey, look at me,” he said, crossing to Sherlock. John tipped Sherlock’s chin up to look into his eyes. “I will always need you. I want you by my side and, for that matter, in my bed as long as you’ll have me.”

“I second that, just so you know.” Mary chimed in. “Well, not my bed per se, but you know what we mean.”

“You made your vows at the reception, we made ours to each other in the church, but, well, we’d like to make ours now, here, if you’ll let us. To you.” John’s cheeks and the tips of his ears pinked a bit as he spoke. 

Sherlock looked up, glancing back and forth between them. Whatever he saw made his shoulders sag slightly as the tension ebbed away.

Mary’s gaze locked with his, “I’m not saying that nothing will change. The baby is going to be way sooner than we planned. And that _will_ change our lives. But that doesn’t mean we don’t want this, too.” Her expression turned more solemn as she continued. “I promise to laugh with you and love you, to confide in you and share with you, everything you’d like.” She paused, her smile brightening, “Including my husband. Especially my husband.”

John laughed, full and warm, like the sun breaking over the horizon, just as he had at the reception and he knelt down so their eyes were level. “And I promise to run beside you wherever you lead me. To take your hand when you reach out to me.” His tongue darted over his lips and he set his mouth in a tight line for a moment, his shoulders squaring with military precision. “I vow to trust you, fully, even with my heart, knowing that you’ve chosen to trust me with yours. I love you, Sherlock.”

Mary smiled, all warmth and honey, taking both their hands and encouraging them to their feet. When they were all standing, she pressed John’s hand into Sherlock’s “I believe a kiss is traditional? By the power vested in me as his legally recognised spouse, I now pronounce you… hmm. Not sure about that bit. Well, whatever we’ll call this. We can work that out later. You may now kiss our husband.”

Sherlock smiled back. It should have felt awkward with Mary here, but instead, it was right. A bit surreal, but nice, actually. 

He squeezed John’s hand and John reached for him, tangling his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and pulling him down. They lost themselves in one another, in soft lips and shared breath, in the sealing of these promises. When they broke apart, there was a sweet sibilance of three contented sighs. 

And though he had never believed in such a thing, let alone that he could find it, this felt like happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my girlfriend empiresprincess as well as Merindab and Tiger-in-the-flightdeck for their help, so this finally got finished.


End file.
